


The Stream of Time

by lamesister



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Add tags as I go, Angst, Ben can snipe and use blasters like a pro, Gen, Montross will hang around for a bit, Obi-Wan goes by Ben, Post-prequels but also pre-prequels, Time Travel, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamesister/pseuds/lamesister
Summary: The first thing Ben Kenobi registered when he regained consciousness was the overwhelmingLightin the Force.The second thing Ben registered was the approaching group.He was not expecting the three Mandalorians before him.
Relationships: Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Jaster Mereel & OC Sara Owliett, OC Sara Owliett & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Jango Fett, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Jaster Mereel
Comments: 66
Kudos: 735





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing Ben Kenobi registered when he regained consciousness was the overwhelming _Light_ in the Force. 

Force, it was so very Light that it hurt to breathe. Tears pricked his eyes. He could have gladly laid there until he was stiff from hunger and cold to just bask in its warmth.

He carefully did not think about how easily it could have been a hallucination.

The second thing Ben registered, _thank you very much_ , was the approaching presence of a group that was not yet hostile, but that could very easily be. 

The third thing he noticed, as he opened his eyes, was that he was not on Tatooine. Rather, he was looking at sparse treetops and noticing a gravely dirt beneath his hands and body. The temperature was several noticeable degrees cooler. 

As pressing as _that_ was, he was much more immediately concerned by the rapidly approaching Force presences. 

Ben stood as smoothly as possible given the hassle of robes and gangly satchel on him. It was an effort not to blink at the humanoid Mandalorians before him. The Empire had decimated any remaining Haat Mando'ade or Kyr’tsad they could find, stealing their beskar. To see them so very obvious before him… Needless to say, Ben was intrigued. Amongst other things.

The Mandalorian in the front of the trio had mostly raw silver beskar, with red pauldrons, red lining around the visor, and a red cape. There was a yellow rhombus around the beskar heart in the middle of the Mandaloian’s chestplate. The left pauldron had a mythosaur skull in yellow as well. Ben would bet his last whiskey bottle on him that that was the Mereel house symbol, but he would also bet that Jaster Mereel was dead, and had been for quite some time. Perhaps someone still loyal to the Clan? 

“State your name and business.” Ah, what a helmet and Mandalorian upbringing could provide for another’s ability to read them. 

Ben smiled pleasantly, if not blandly, realizing somewhat belatedly that the cloth covering his nose and mouth masked it. He pulled it down. “Ben Kenobi-- he/him. And getting lost, I’m afraid. Do you mind telling me what planet I’m on?” He tilted his head, well aware what his drab tan and brown layers looked like. He looked more like a hermit who carried his life on him (which he was) than a mishappen spacer. 

Damn their beskar and impenetrable stances. The silence was awkward for a few beats then the lead Mandalorian huffed, “Korda VI. How’d you lost on this little piece of nothing?”

How interesting. “Ship crashed, though I don’t remember much of it.” Little bit of truth, little bit of lie. 

“You were lying on the ground when we stumbled upon you,” he-- and Ben was assuming that the Mandalorian was a he, but it did well to never be sure unless explicitly told-- pointed out, “Injured?”

He did a quick mental check of his status. He was a little dehydrated, sunburnt, and a deep scar on his left leg was aching something miserable, but overall was in alright health. 

He went with, “Not currently.” He ran a mental check of his supplies as well and amended, “Though I seem to be lacking sufficient water. But I suppose that could be remedied once I ask for the direction to the nearest spaceport?”

The Mando'ad huffed, shaking their head. “Good luck with that. Nearest one is several hundred clicks away. If your ship’s bust, your best chance is hitching a ride.” It was unclear if they meant with them or not.

The two Mandalorians behind the lead were just silently watching the whole exchange. Ben wondered if they had internal comms, then chastised himself. Of course they did. 

The Mando'ad on the left, the only female-shaped humanoid of the group, broke the pattern by offering him the canteen hanging from their belt. “Seems bad manners to let you die of thirst on this shit-hole. Walk with us.” Their armour was a deep jade green with warm orange accents on the beskar plate’s edges. Something prickled his senses about them. A second, and he had it. They were Force-sensitive, strong if he could tell through the beskar. He carefully made sure his shields were up properly.

The Mando'ad on the right, in dark grey and blue beskar just watched him with an aggressive air. 

Ben nodded. “Seems reasonable. I surely don’t know where I’m going.” He took the canteen and gratefully drank a few sips. 

He followed the group in silence, to the green-decked Mando'ad’s left, consolidating his information. He was on Korda VI, where Mand’alor Jaster Mereel was murdered if his Mandalorian history was up to par. He could not quite remember _how_ , other than something about the local Kordan Defense Force and Death Watch, but that was the extent and irrelevant in any case. 

He did not know how he got on the planet. Surely he would remember the transit from Tatooine to Korda VI? Or any instance where someone forcibly took him here? The Force-- the warm, glorious, confusing Force, where all the brilliant lights were back-- wrapped around him tightly, he realized. It had done… something. Frustratingly vague as usual. He could hardly complain at the moment.

And he was following three Mandalorians. One was a rare sight these days, even for a place like Tatooine. The Mando'ad in silver and red seemed to be the leader of this particular group. They were perhaps offering transit off the planet, but Ben could not be sure. It could just as easily be a trap of some sort, the cynical, paranoid part of his brain whispered. The part that has been keeping him alive.

The Mandalorian in green and orange seemed friendly enough. The Mando'ad in grey and blue still had a hostile air, but perhap that was just their natural disposition. Ben had not yet done anything to offend the group. At least not that he was aware of.

And the Force. He could have cried. He wanted to. He could feel _them_ , like he could not in years. It… it very much left him worrying that this was a dream and when he would wake up he would find himself in that miserable little hut on Tatooine, wasting away to time. But what he was feeling just was not _possible_. One could not simply replace all the lives lost on that fateful day. Not only that… the Force had not felt this clear before well before the Clone Wars. Something told him it was not a problem he would solve today (given he did not wake up to find that it was only a trick of his mind.)

They walked in silence for… well, in all honesty, he got rather wrapped in his thoughts, but by the time the silence was broken the sun had shifted positions and the old wound on his leg was hurting severely enough that Ben rather wanted to sit down and not move for a good long while while making sure he did not lose his lunch.

The Mando'ad in red dropped back enough to walk besides him. “Thought you said you weren’t injured.” They nodded to Ben’s leg. 

He tried not to be bothered that the Mandolorian could pick up his barely-there limp that slipped through his self control. “And I currently am not. Old injury,” he explained.

“Get in accidents often?”

Ben smiled and wondered if it was a tad bitter, “Trouble seems to find me wherever I go.”

The Mando'ad nodded, “You a fighter?”

The question struck him as odd, but he dismissed it as info gathering on the Mando’ad’s part. Dozens of images flashed through his mind. “I’d certainly hope I am by now.”

And that was that. The Mandalorian stayed by his side and Ben did not pretend that he was not grateful for the pain-relieving root that they passed over. It was a rare commodity for him these days.

They continued walking on.

The sun was low in the sky when they arrived where the Mandalorians were camped out and Ben wondered why they had been out so far. He filed it away to think about later in favor of looking around.

The camp was significantly larger than Ben was anticipating. It was filled with dozens of Mandalorians, of several species, and even more colors dawning their beskar’gam. Not each one had their helmets on, rather it seemed commonplace to have it clipped to one’s belt. Tents and easily erectable (and dismantableable) structures were in orderly rows throughout the rough circle and veered to the right. Sleek Mandalorian ships decked the left side. He stopped at the entrance, eyes darting from person to person. It was an _overwhelming_ presence compounded on the dramatic change in the Force and years of instincts made the hair at his neck prickle. 

It reminded him of the War, the comfort of his men. 

He closed his eyes and swallowed down the lump in his throat.

The trio stopped when they noticed his pause. The one in red waved the other two forward and Ben handed the canteen back to the one he borrowed it from. They nodded their thanks. 

“I’m going to need to talk with you further.”

Ben nodded, eyes once again roaming the crowd, “I figured.”

The Mando'ad followed his line of sight. “We don’t bite.” They sounded vaguely amused through the vox in the helmet. 

“No, just everything else,” he replied before he could think better of it.

The Mando'ad snorted. And then they reached up and unlatched their helmet. The Mando'ad was tan with faint scars covering their skin. Their hair was wavy and black, though pushed down oddly by the helmet. They held out their hand and Ben wondered if he should clasp them above the wrist in the traditional Mandalorian way before the floor was pulled out from under him with the utter honesty in, “I’m Mand’alor Jaster Mereel,” they tilted their head to the left, “he/him.”

Oh, dear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH- I love all of your comments!! Little bursts of sunshine. :D  
> For those asking- 5 years after RotS.  
> Also, I think I’m going to update every Friday. So, yeah, enjoy and thanks for reading!!

Mand’alor Mereel took him to a tent near the center of the operation while Ben tried to make the vague floating sensation cease. He barely noticed the Mando'ade around him.

The Force whispered in his ears, telling of _truth-urgency-change_ and something that seemed too complicated to grasp in the quick flurries it spun around him. The Force wrapped him tightly, a farewell hug almost, and left him feeling empty, drained, and apparently in a chair with a mug of --was that shig?-- in front of him. 

Mereel stared at him from across a desk. “You alright Kenobi?”

Ben nodded, looking into his mug. He took a sip. It definitely was shig.

Mereel pursed his lips, but seemed to accept his answer for the moment. Ben could tell he did not believe him. That was quite alright at the moment. “How long have you been on the planet? We would’ve seen any ship crashes recently.”

Ben took another sip of shig. “Not sure. Not long.”

“Your clothes tell me otherwise.”

Ben grimaced, but countered, “Time is a matter of perspective,” he paused, dreading the next question, but feeling-- _knowing_ it needed to be asked. It was no light thing to mimic a fallen ruler, but perhaps he was wrong and that is what it was. This could be just a terrible coincidence after having gotten black-out drunk. Or something. “Might I ask the date?’

Mereel told him, truth ringing in his word, for what reason would he have to lie? Ben felt his face go very carefully blank. 

Thirty-seven years in the past.

Thirty-two years before the end of everything he cherished and held dear.

Five years after he was born. 

It was very, very hard to breath. 

He barely noticed. He- he was _thirty-seven years_ in the past and the Force did not disagree with the insane notion. It-- He could fix it. He could fix _all_ of it. But could he? Looking back, Palpatine had contingency plans for his contingency plans. He had connections everywhere.

Sidious’s Master would still be alive. And who was he, Ben Kenobi, lost Jedi and exile, to go against Darth Sidious, let alone whoever trained him? 

_Anakin._

He was vaguely aware of shaking in his limbs and stinging in his eyes. There was a faint sense of rattling.

Anakin would not have even been _born yet_. Karking hells, Shmi might not have even been born yet.

But-- _Anakin._ He could save Anakin. The Jedi. _The Jedi._

They would not be the people he fought with. Who grew up beside him. Who all died instead of him. But what would that matter if they all got to live?

“Kenobi, breath. _Udesii, haalur_. Breathe with me.” The voice inhaled exaggeratedly and all Ben could think was that he was grateful that they did not touch him. 

He tried to follow along, but-- this was his _chance_. He could make things right. He could save the Jedi. He could save Anakin. Even if it meant destroying himself.

The rattling got louder. Ben heard swearing-- “Kenobi, Ben, breathe with me, come on.”

He started following the enunciated breaths he could hear-- only through routine, habit. Cody would do the same for him. Had it really only been five years? That thought was almost enough to undo any progress he had made. 

He could hear his Commander’s exasperated, gentle, understanding voice ringing in his ears and Ben continued to simply _breathe_. 

A sigh of relief, “There, ka’ra, Kenobi,” someone said after some time. Not Cody. Mereel. Jaster Mereel- the Mand’alor who was about to die.

Ben opened his eyes-- when he closed them?-- and was faced with Mereel’s hard stare, the man on his heels below and in front of him. ”You good?”

Ben nodded, half-heartedly wiping at the tear streaks on his face and looked around. He bit back a wince at the mess he made. There was not a lot- it was a temporary setup, but still. “Sorry.”

“Kih'parjai. Not something you can control.” Mereel’s eyes flickered over his face and Ben wondered what he saw to not immediately question his use of the Force. “Can I know the trigger?”

Ben shook his head in denial-- he did have triggers, but, “Just surprised.”

He pursed his lips, “Longer than you thought?” 

Somehow Ben felt they would still come back to triggers at some point. Mereel seemed like the type to not want to accidentally harm someone if they could avoid it. It seemed like he understood.

Ben chuckled wryly, “Apparently so. I--” he cleared his throat, “Well,” he waved around the room as if in explanation, “You should know Kyr’tsad is here.”

Mereel’s eyes sharpened at the use of Mando’a-- or perhaps the name. Either way, “Not something to say lightly. We dealt with them six standard years ago.”

“Just sent them into hiding.”

“How do you know?” He asked, sitting on the edge of his desk.

He shrugged, “They don’t make polite company.” Let Mereel think what he will, but he needed to know this. Might as well start the change here. No- he _needed_ to start it here. “And the Korda Defense Force....” he frowned, “don’t trust them.” 

“They hired us,” he countered. But Mereel’s eyebrows were pinched; his face was thoughtful. 

“Death Watch loves their traps,” he huffed bitterly. 

“Hut’uuniise,” Mereel spat. “Okay, Kenobi. It’d be foolish to ignore this if you’re right.”

“A mild comfort, unfortunately.”

He grimaced, “Yeah.” He messed with something-- a comm, presumably-- on his vambrace. “I take it you need a space of your own?” He didn’t let Ben anwer before continuing, “I’m going to get my team together and discuss what you brought us. You are getting food, then rest. Ah, no, don't protest. Just tell me whatever else you can now while we clean up this mess.”

“I am sorry about that, it’s… unlike me to lose control like that.” Certainly in front of other people. He stood, heading to the left of the room while Mereel took the right.

“Like I said, it’s not your fault.” Ben disagreed, but let it go for the sake of the conversation. “Kyr’tsad?”

“I… don’t know much.” He knew plenty, he thought, putting a trio of holonovels back on a shelf, just nothing _relevant_. He tried to recall what he had researched about this point of Mandalorian history. He came up blank.

Mereel’s aura in the room was disbelieving. Ben tried not to twitch. 

“Anything would be useful.”

Mereel had been overpowered by them, Ben thought. How? What would make them-- and the Kordans-- able to beat a small army? 

“There’s a lot of them,” he supplied. A tug in the right direction. 

“Numbers?”

“...I was a tad busy on other things.” What else, what else? Why would the Kordans hire the Mandalorians just to turn around and betray them? Why was Death Watch here? “It’s a trap,” he realized. “For you and the Haat Mando’ade.”

Mereel’s flare of surprise, then hard-edged determination and anger filled Ben’s senses. He did not respond. 

They worked in silence for a while. Ben was perhaps halfway done with his side of the room when Mereel spoke again.

“And they can contain those with the Manda?” It sounded more like confirmation than question.

It took him a second to place the words. It made sense, really, that Mandalorians would call the Force by something different. Ben hummed, “If you have the right equipment, it’s not hard after the initial capture.”

“Can one escape?”

“Given the right circumstances…” he placed a holoimage of Mereel and a young boy, maybe thirteen or twelve in the image back on the shelf. Jango Fett would be fourteen now if he was doing his math right. He would be _here_.

Ben needed to meditate. His tightly leashed control was slipping-- already had. He cleared his throat, “Given the right circumstances, and how much training someone’s had, it’s possible.” Not great, though, if it is done right, he did not say. He was the exception, not the rule, he thought bitterly. “ Better with outside help.” He placed the last fallen item back on the shelf. 

He turned back towards Mereel who looked him over, ignored his odd lapse, and nodded. “Do you want a change of clothes-- you don’t have to give up yours, but they need a wash.”

A knock at the door interrupted his answer. “Okliett,” they introduced.

“Come in,” Mereel answered. 

The jade green and orange beskar’gam wearing Mandalorian from earlier walked in. Their helmet was off, revealing a humanoid with lavender hair in a half-shaved bob cut suitable for helmets. Their eyes were amber-brown and skin sun-tanned with a smattering of blue freckles. “‘Alor,” they greeted Mereel. They then turned to him, “Sara Okliett, she/they, we met earlier.” She eyed him with open curiosity, and her Force-presence felt much the same. 

Ben smiled, “Hello, again.”

“Clothes, Kenobi?” Mereel asked, drawing their attention to him, tone almost making it an order instead of an offer.

He picked disdainfully at a patch of robe, the item covered in sand. He had probably gotten the stuff everywhere. “That would probably be for the best, yes.”

“Great, then Sara here will show you around and get you settled in.” He nodded to her.

“Com’on Kenobi,” she waved him over, a mischievous glint in her eye, “Ever have tiingilar before?” As they walked out they nodded bye to Mereel. 

He waved his hand at them, already tapping away at his vambrace. 

Ben smirked, perhaps the only genuine expression to come to his face all day and said, “Actually, I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sara- (btw her full name is Sara’kote (roughly means blossom glory in Mando’a) Owliett...) I think Ben needs interaction with another Force sensitive. So I have Sara. Wooo! And this chapter was angsty and when I wrote it I realized I hadn’t added that to the tags lol. Ben’s silver tongue is fun to write. Anyways ... see you next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of my chapters are beta’d btw. I self-edit but that only gets me so far. Feel free to point out mistakes!

Jaster watched Kenobi and Sara leave, shaking his head. He finished the messages to Jango and Montross, looked them over, and sent them. 

He rubbed his eyes, sitting back down in his plain chair on his side of the desk. 

It was a desk in name only. Had Kenobi been any less out of it, he might’ve noticed the pieces of flimsi with attack plans and the circle disc that displays a holomap when on.

Ben Kenobi. A man who appeared out of nowhere, has the Manda, and warns them that Kyr’tsad is on Korda VI. That it was a setup to attack him and the Haat Mando’ade.

A man whose demons haunt his eyes. 

He wonders if Kenobi was captured by Kyr’tsad after the man crashed on the planet. He never said so outright, but it was clear he had been captured before— by people who knew what he was and how to restrain him too. It was also clear that he has had bitter experiences with Kyr’tsad. 

The question would be, how had he escaped? Kenobi was a warrior— Jaster could see it in his stance, the way he scanned a room, marking exits and analyzing the whomever was in it. The question he had asked was merely superficial. And Kyr’tsad were warriors too, as much as it chaffed. 

Jaster did not think it was anything he would get answers to today. 

A knock on the door announced the arrival of his son. “Buir? Heard we picked up a stray.” Jango was in full silver, gray, and blue beskar, minus his helmet which was clipped on his hip. His face was calm, but his ad’s eyes were alight with curiosity. 

“That we did, Jan’ika.”

Jango shifted, “... And those rumors about him being a Jetii I heard on the way over?”

Jaster pressed his eyes together briefly. It did not help. The man had barely been in camp an hour, if that. He opened them, staring imploringly at his son, “He has the Manda, that part’s true. I didn’t ask him if he was Jetii. I had the feeling he wouldn’t tell me anyway.”

“Then how can we trust him?”

Jaster raised an eyebrow. “We judge his actions, ad. And we don’t stereotype him.”

Jango made a face, but did not counteract his statement. Good. Perhaps the lesson would settle with him this time. “So what’s the situation? Picking up someone new isn’t exactly uncommon. Why’d you call?”

He sighed, “He brought us some troubling information. And-- wait ‘till Montross gets here for the rest.”

Jango nodded, looking over the table. 

It was only a few minutes before Montross arrived too, and Jaster stood. 

“Right. Today we and Sara, picked up a humanoid who calls himself Ben Kenobi. He’s been on-planet an unknown amount of time, crash landed. He hasn’t said where he comes from.” He looked at his ad and second, gaze lingering on his son. “He has said, however, that Kyr’stad is on-planet and that the Kordans are planning to betray us.”

Anger and exclamation burst from them both and Jaster held up a hand for silence. Jango’s expression was still stormy, and Montross’s eyes had a certain… ire in them. 

“Do you have proof? How does he know?” the latter asked. 

“No proof, but I suspect Kenobi was their prisoner. It’s worth looking into.”

“How’d he get out then?” Montross countered, “If Kyr’tsad is here, maybe he’s a plant.”

A good point to consider, but something in his gut- the Ka’ra, he liked to think, denied it. “Why would he tell us about Kyr’tsad if he was one of them?”

“To earn our trust.”

“Regardless,” Jango interrupted, “It’s worth looking into. It’s jaro to not look into it.”

So they went back and forth, setting out plans to gather information on the Kordans and maybe, likely, probably Kyr’tsad. 

Jaster had noticed when Sara had slipped back in the room, but was still startled-- though he did not show it-- when they spoke up, “Kenobi’s telling the truth, though the man has impressive shields.” They frowned, “Really impressive. Nothing slipped them. In fact, I wouldn’t have known Kenobi had the Manda without ‘Alor telling me about his incident.”

“He has the Manda?” Montross shot him a look, pinched his lips, then shook his head as if clearing it. “So, you're saying he’s… what, disguising his presence to you somehow?” Montross asked, “That sounds suspicious.”

“Disguising, yes. Suspicious?” They shrugged. “Depends what he’s hiding himself from.”

Good to know, but, “Is his info valid?” That was what he had tasked them to do, afterall. 

“I thought you had determined it didn’t matter if it was or not,” they smiled wryly. “We don’t have anything to back it up-- yet-- but he’s not lying. He didn’t lie once, actually, for all he didn’t actually tell me anything at all. --Well, he speaks Mando’a ...But, yes, he’s not lying about this.” 

Jaster raised an eyebrow, but nodded. He had a feeling. Another one had him saying, “If we gather intelligence on Kry’tsad we should see what Kenobi has to say.”

The three identical looks of disbelief had him holding in a difficult grin and questioning if he was not actually losing his mind. Instead he said, “I want to test him.”

Their expressions were _slightly_ more believing. 

\-----

Sara Okliett was an interesting character, Ben decided after some musing. They had shown him around camp, got him a change of clothes (which he now shifted uncomfortably in, they were much too tight), and sat down and had tiingilar with him.

They had eyed him with a strange mix of skepticism and appraisal as he ate his tiingilar without melting from the heat. 

“Where’ve you had tiingilar before, Kenobi?” they asked again, “ _Real_ tiingilar, with all the right spice?”

He finished his bite, debated how much to tell, then decided to kark it because pretending to not know Mandalorian culture or Mando’a at this point in time would do him little good. “I spent some time on Mandalore when I was younger. I’ve had it a few times since as well.”

“Huh,” they squinted, “You speak Mando’a?”

“‘Lek,” he answered, then shoved more food in his mouth.

He wondered if it was possible they squinted harder, but they seemed to dismiss it and the rest of the meal was passed with idle chatter. He was not surprised when Sara brought up the information he had given Mereel, and had disappointed them when he could not tell them more.

Sara’s Force-presence was much the same as their manners, now that he could take a look and inspect it. It was a genuinely curious, almost playfully efficient cloud around him as they relaxed-- though not dropped-- their shields in a comfortable environment. 

It terribly made Ben want to relax as well. He did not. 

So it left him sitting in the small room he had been given, belly full of the best meal he has had in years, unable to sleep. It struck him, then, that he had yet to meditate. 

He sat up, arranged his pose, and rested his hands palm up on his knees. His eyes slipped shut and he focused on releasing his emotions to the Force. There were things that tangled, did not let go, as there always were nowadays, but for the moment his mind was beautifully blank. 

Thoughts floated to the surface. Firstmost, he was in the past. That… was... Ben released his tension, plucking it like a weed from a garden. What it was, was a chance to _fix_ it-- everything. It was Hope. He pondered on the merits of releasing it into the Force; he did, but he felt it settle into a little treacherous place in his heart anyways, beautiful and terrifying.

The thought passed, tucked away. Jaster Mereel was going to die soon if he failed to do anything. No, that was wrong, he already _had_ done something. He had deliberately messed with the past-- present? He wondered if it would be enough before slotting it away in his mind. 

Ben’s thoughts continued much in this fashion, the Force there and flowing through him and _Light_ ...and Ben was distracted again. But he felt settled, and much like coming out of a flimsy-work haze, Ben ended his meditation and laid to sleep. 

\-----

Ben was left to fend for himself the next morning. He got himself a sparse breakfast and grumbled when told most of his robes had fallen apart when they were washed. The Mandalorian tried to look sympathetic, they really did, but handed him another set of tight fitting clothes (meant to fit under a kute- the tight-fitting jumpsuit that beskar’gam attached or strapped on to- so they were _really_ quite tight) and a frayed, slightly armoured, spacer jacket with a smirk on their face. They did hand him his sand gaiter back-- the only thing that did not disintegrate apparently-- and he pulled it around his neck, letting it hang below his face. He then asked where he could get a razor and trimmers and found himself staring in the mirror with no idea what to do with his hair.

His mirror-self’s blue-gray eyes blinked back at him, his sun-bleached auburn hair long and beard… not unkempt exactly, but much longer than he preferred it. After a long silence, he began to trim his beard. It continued to stay quiet. Not calm exactly, but quiet. Eventually, the result of his ministrations framed his jaw.

He eyed his hair as well. Rather than cutting it short, he simply decided to trim it. It was long enough to be braided or put into a topknot after all and… he was not sure he could stand to see himself with it cut short. This, too, was done in quiet.

“Kenboi?” rang through the borrowed fresher, breaking the not-peace. 

“Yes, yes, I’m coming.” He returned the items to their little satchel and opened the door to the fresher. 

One Jango Fett stood before him, helmet off. His beskar was silver and blue-- barely scratched and _shiny_.

Ben stilled, swallowed, and smiled thinly. 

This Jango Fett was still just a boy-- adult by Mandalorian standards, sure, but a boy compared to what he will-- could be, he thought. He was yet to be truly changed after the trials of a hard life. 

It did not change the way he looked though.

Fett looked him up and down and huffed. The gesture felt slightly odd coming from a fourteen year old. “Buir requested your presence.”

“Of course,” he replied, stepping out of the fresher, “Lead the way.”

Fett turned and began leading him back to the pop-up building that he had been led to yesterday. 

Ben could practically feel the questions simmering off of him. “Yes?” he inquired.

“Are you a Jetii?” Right for the jugular, then.

Ben raised a brow, “Would that change your opinion of me?”

Fett shrugged, “Dunno. Ni nakar’mir about you. ‘Haven’t even seen you fight yet. That might change soon though,” he glared-adjacent. It might have worked had Ben not been a war vetran and had Fett not been fourteen, “So?”

“I am not a Jedi.” It was even true, to an extent. The Jedi Order of today would not recognize him as a Jedi Master. Force-sensitive, yes, a Master of the Force, yes, but not a Jedi like the Jedi of this time. He was not even sure he was ready to face the Jedi of today. They would not be the same people he grew up with or had grown to be friends with. They were over three decades younger. 

They had not been through war. 

And Ben, Ben was the last of _his_ Order. 

“You’re _something_ though.”

Ben glanced at Fett through the corner of his eye, “Of course. But what do _you_ think I am?”

He did not answer until they were outside the door to Mereel’s office. Fett’s eyes were a hard, curious gold as he said, “Something new.”

They entered the office, which was populated by Mereel, Okliett, and a Mandalorian he did not know. The latter had their helmet on. They surrounded the desk-- Ben sighed at himself. They surrounded the _wartable_. 

“Ah, Kenobi, thank you for coming. You’ve met Sara. The one who escorted you here is my ad, Jango Fett. The one with their buy’ce still on is Montross, my second. Everyone, Ben Kenobi.” Mereel clapped his hands and his stance settled into something more serious. 

“Right. Now that introductions are out of the way, let’s get down to it,” a glance at Ben from Mereel had him, too, instinctually settling into a military stance born from the Clone Wars. Mereel continued, a knowledgeable gleam in his eyes, “We found evidence of Kyr’tsad. From what our scout team was able to gather, combined with the Kordans, they have enough numbers to go against us-- provided that we hadn’t discovered their ion cannon.

“Now I recommend that we should take a small, two or three person team to infiltrate their operation and disable the ion cannon. This team should signal when their mission is accomplished, then fall back. Vertigo and Headhunter Companies will launch simultaneous attacks, from air and land respectively. Jango’s Grunts can hold our extraction point, as per the original plan.” As he talked, Mereel gestured to various spots on the holo-map. Whoever his scouts were, they were _really_ thorough. “I’ve already been over this with my crew here. Kenobi, any thoughts?”

Ben did the rough calculations in his head, assuming GAR Companies were modeled after Mandalorian ones. He accounted for the size difference and asked for the opposition’s numbers and added that to his calculations. It was a viable plan. 

The only hitch would be in disabling the ion cannon. Mandalorians were very capable people, but hard-won instincts had him saying, “Send Okliett and I to disable the ion cannon. We’re the most likely to get in undetected. Once we disable it, we can comm you and retreat to somewhere more useful.” Spontaneity, perhaps a long-quiet thrill in his bones, and an awareness of the value of his skills had him adding, “I can sharpshoot.”

Mereel eyed the holomap, “Could work, provided you’re capable of what you’re saying,” he scanned his clothes with heavy skepticism, “I’m not sending anyone into battle without armour.”

“I can’t wear beskar’gam.”

“No. You can’t. But we have some old merc armour that might fit you. It’s just sitting there anyway, you might as well keep it if it does. The Armourer might be willing to let you borrow some weapons, too,” a hint of humor carried in his voice. Ben felt like he was missing something.

He did have one weapon, though-- his lightsaber. He had been carrying it at the small of his back, hidden under the layers of robes. Currently, it was tucked in a special pocket in his satchel, having no place to hide it on himself with his current attire. He refrained from mentioning it, though. 

An idea that had been forming since near the start of the conversation took hold and made him say, “Wonderful. Might I make one last request?”

“Go ahead, Kenobi,” Mereel answered.

“Might I acquire a beskad? Ret’lini.”

Their expressions and emotions in the Force around him were priceless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a:  
> Ni nakar’mir- I don’t know  
> Beskad- Slightly curved saber made of beskar  
> Ret’lini- just in case
> 
> You know, I almost ended it when Jango said, “Something new.” This chapter is 1000 words more than usual.
> 
> Beskads are no joke to Mandalorians. I love Ben XD


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for reference, I use:  
> Kyr'tsad- refers to Death Watch as a whole, as an organization  
> Kyr'tsadii- single member of Kyr'tsad  
> Kyr'tsadiise- plural members of Kyr'tsad.  
> Makes more sense in my writing brain.

Ben did, indeed, get a beskad, to the surprise of almost everyone. The Armourer gave him a deep, calculating look when Fett had introduced him to her, but obliged and told him he could even keep it, provided he prove he could. She then saddled him up with the merc armour she did approve of him keeping and two blasters he was to borrow. One was a simple hand blaster-- simple in the way that anything Mandalorian was, and a long sniper. 

The Armourer had a rooted, all-knowing presence to him in the Force. It reminded him of a strange mix between a Jedi Master and a Storyteller from Tatooine. 

He had a feeling the upcoming battle would be more than the one trial in the eyes of the Haat’Mando’ade around him. 

The ship shuttered as it dropped to be flying right over the ground, and Ben gripped the handle above him with an iron fist. The ship would drop him and Okliett-- or rather, _they_ would drop from the ship-- a couple of clicks out, and they would walk the rest of the way to avoid detection. 

“Afraid of flying?” Okliett teased.

Ben grimaced, “Afraid of crashing.”

“ETA three minutes,” called the pilot from the front.

“Well,” she said, amber eyes light, “how’s that any different than _jumping out of the ship_?”

“The difference is that I can control my descent. I have the-- Manda to help control it.”

She latched her helmet on as she said, “That’s all well and good, but I have that and a _jetpack_. K’oyacyi, Kenobi.”

“K’oyacyi,” Ben murmured. 

He pulled his sand gaiter up around his face, covering his nose and below. He double checked that he had the beskad at his waist and the hand blaster on his thigh. The sniper was attached across his back. 

His battered gray armour was, while close-fitting, not uncomfortable. It weighed more than he was used to or necessarily comfortable with, but he could move in it just fine and it covered everything that needed covering. What it did not cover, the worn brown, armoured jacket did. 

Okliett double checked their person at the same time. 

“Got the explosives?” Ben asked.

“No,” she deadpanned, “I left them at the base. ‘Course I got the damn explosives, Kenobi.” She patted her belt, “they’re right here, safe and secure.” 

The pilot called out again, “K’oyacyi, verde. Opening in three… two… one.”

The door on the side of the ship opened, he took a breath, and they jumped. He wrapped the Force around himself as a brace and cushion, and he felt Okliett doing the same. They landed, silent in the dark. 

The walk was quiet and face-paced, the only sound was their near-silent footsteps on the gravelly-rock ground. Ben found himself wishing that he had a helmet for internal comms. Instead, his comm was in a pocket on his belt. Even attached to his vambrance would have been better, given he still would not be able to use it; it would be less of a hassle to reach. 

Perhaps an hour later, they saw the first signs of camp, now under the sparse trees of Korda VI’s version of a forest. The sound of their footsteps became nonexistent. 

A gentle tap against his mental shields made him look at Okliett. She tilted her head to the side.

He did not create a pocket in his shields for her to communicate with him. 

He saw, more than heard, her sigh, and they continued forward with no more communication than gestures and some hand signs that Ben recognized from the GAR. It made him wonder how many of the signs they used were original GAR signs and how many were Mandalorian in origin. 

The Force-presences of the Kyr’tsadiise had them slow to a creep. The sparse forest they had stationed themselves in had a dip, and that was where they had set up camp. 

The blue-armoured guards at the lip’s perimeter were relatively easy to get past. It was just a matter of waiting, counting how long a guard’s pace back to their original position took, and slipping through the blind spots. 

It was at this point Ben recognized the _calm_ he had slipped into. It was the single-minded focus of the task at hand, where everything else was of the little consequence and a distraction. It settled in his blood, his bones, his mind, and the Force around him. He sensed Okliett twitch at the change.

The steep slope behind the ridge was less easy to traverse, not to mention how exposed they were despite the dark. Ben ended up using the Force to solidify his steps as they made their way down. 

Okliett did not use such tactics, and the soft clatter of shifting gravel made him want to hiss. 

Any noise was _too much_ noise given the high-tech HUDs any self-respecting Mandalorian carried around. 

On their way down, Ben scanned the camp. To his vague amusement, it was set up much the same way the Haat’ade camp was. The ships were on the left, the tents were on the right, and command was in the center. The ion cannon was pitifully easy to spot near the front of the camp, where the dip in the ground met the ridge. Though, Ben supposed, it would have been rather hard to hide. 

They reached the bottom undetected, sheltering in the deep shadows of the Kom’rk-class fighter and transport ships that Kyr’tsad seemed to favor. They snuck from shadow to shadow, going gloriously undetected. A mission that was finally going _right_. 

And he jinxed it, he mused. No matter, nothing had happened yet.

Unfortunately, getting to the front of the camp was where their luck ended, at least in avoiding sentients. 

A Kyr’tsadii in blue armour- big surprise there- was in the operating seat behind the ion cannon, idly swiveling the seat back and forth.

Before Okliett could move, Ben whipped forwards, wrapping an arm around the dar’Mandalorian. Ben refrained from grunting as an armoured elbow struck him in his gut, but his armour protected up nicely. Then, before they could get any bright ideas, Ben suddenly released him, grabbed the blaster on his thigh, and whacked them across the buy’ce with it’s butt hard enough they would not be waking any time soon.

Okliett stepped out from the shadows, jade green helmeted head tilted down at the handled Kyr’stadii. “Osik, Kenobi,” amusement pulsed through the Force, “can’t wait to see what else you can do.”

Ben hummed. “Ion cannon?”

“‘Course, of course.” 

Ben watched camp as Okliett worked settling up the charges, his back to her. It prickled. Nevertheless, he knew her as an ally, and so his focus was instead spent scanning the Kry’tsadiise. No one was coming their way, but just brushing against some of their minds unsettled him. Not everyone here was bad or had bad intentions, but some of these minds were unpleasant to be open to, to say the least. But there was something, just beyond-

“Done!” Okliett whisper-yelled. 

Ben lost whatever thread he had been on and nodded. It would come back eventually, he knew, but kept his mind open to his surroundings. “Good. Scaling that slope from below would be a nightmare, but if we could get past the front, that would be a better option. Then we double back up high and we can get me settled in a perch.”

She pressed the preset button on her vambrance that let Mereel know they planted the charges. She would press another one when they hit the detonator. “Take out a couple Kyr’tsadiise while we’re at it?” 

“We need to take out the ones on guard duty, yes.” He noticed two approaching presences. “But, now, go.”

“Right.”

They jogged the few meters left to the front of the camp, sneaking behind two pairs of Kyr’tsad guards. Okliett took the pair on the left, while he handled those on the right. He knocked them out with the same brutal efficiency and technique he used on the last one, this time adding some slight strength behind it with the Force. The second one of his pair only went down after a few intense seconds of hand-to-hand fighting, in which Ben remembered that he really -- _disliked_ fighting opponents larger than him. His hand was going to hurt later. 

He turned his head, and he saw Sara’s opponents similarly dealt with. “Well, they will definitely know we’re here before long,” she said, shrugging slightly. 

They left the camp quickly. Once they were in a safe range, Okliett pressed the button to Mereel, then hit the detonator. The burst of flame temporarily blinded his vision and he closed his eyes against it. 

He opened them, blinking, and they moved on. Ben had his eyes set on a point above the right of the camp to set up. It gave him good coverage over most of the camp and any would-be attackers would have to go uphill to get to him. 

Instead of leaving themselves open to attack, they took down Kyr’tsadiise as they made their way across the ridge, their cover well and fully blown with the fire at their backs. Okliett left him at his selected spot, two fresh knicks on his armour from one particularly skilled Kyr’tsadii and another from when he was fighting the former by a lucky one. He, thankfully, was unharmed. 

He slung his sniper off his back and dropped to the ground, still mentally scanning his surroundings. He could feel a blip on his radar from where the Haat’ade were rapidly approaching (he hoped they would be here soon, he was a realist and knew that Okliett and him could only last so long on their own with the enemy now engaged), and the chaotic dots that were the Kyr’tsadiise below him. Another, brighter, dot showed Okliett effectively taking down her opponents. Her presence flickered and he almost took off after her, but the moment passed and she moved on. 

He assembled his weapon quickly, flat on the ground and a stillness in his body that would unnerve anyone looking at him. He looked through the scope to down below. Who first?

_There,_ he thought, firing a shot at someone who was attempting to enter their ship. 

Then Ben spotted the black beskar’gam amongst the sea of blue, the thread picked up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a   
> K’oyacyi- come back safely, stay alive, etc.  
> Verde- soldiers  
> Osik- shit
> 
> Sara has no filter, lol. No filter, dry humor. (She's basically my inner monologue given flesh.)


End file.
